


Frayed Edges

by SunriseRose1023



Series: When You Come Back To Me Again [7]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bombing, Explosions, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Gen, Memory Loss, Pain, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Recovered Memories, References to Canon, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunriseRose1023/pseuds/SunriseRose1023
Summary: A mysterious stranger saves your life, giving you a piece of information that ends up shattering your current life. Turns out, what you think you know is nothing at all.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Series: When You Come Back To Me Again [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1283630
Kudos: 17





	Frayed Edges

You closed your eyes as you yawned, shaking your head as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. You lifted the steaming cup to your lips, inhaling the dark scent, taking a sip. You made a face, setting the cup down, turning to see a man standing beside you with an amused smile on his face. 

“May I suggest some cream or sugar?”  
“Brilliant suggestion.”

The man gave a quiet chuckle, stepping aside and motioning his arm towards the table behind the two of you. You nodded and gave him a smile as you studied the packets on the table. 

“Not a fan of coffee, Miss Ross?”  
“I’m beginning to think not.”

The man stepped beside you, reaching out and handing you a tiny cup of creamer. 

“A few of these should do the trick.”

A soft smile came to your face when you read the hazelnut caramel label. You lifted your eyes to the dark ones next to you and shook your head. 

“I’m so sorry. I don’t—“  
“That’s quite alright. We met a long time ago.”

He held out a hand as he introduced himself. 

“T’Challa.”

You set your hand in his, shaking it and opening your mouth, but your father stepped up behind you, laying a hand against your back as he gave a slight bow to the man in front of you. 

“Your Highness.”

Your eyes widened as T’Challa nodded at your father, smiling at you and lifting your hand to his lips before he stepped away. You shook your head as you turned back to face your dad. 

“‘Your Highness?’”

Thaddeus nodded as he moved to pour himself a cup of coffee. 

“That was crown prince T’Challa of the African nation of Wakanda. His father, King T’Chaka, is expected to step down from the throne any day now.”

You slowly nodded, opening the packet T’Challa had handed you and dumping it into your cup. 

“And we know each other?”  
“You and T’Challa hit it off at a ball a few years back.”

You nodded again, opening another creamer and pouring it into your cup. 

“One of my lost years.”

Thaddeus went still, turning to face you. 

“Honey, these people … they understand. They all know what we went through last year.”

You nodded, picking up a little straw and stirring your coffee. 

“I just feel terrible about it. People come up and act like we’re old friends and I haven’t the faintest clue of who they even are.”

You shook your head, taking a sip from your coffee, making a face.

“Still not there.”

Thaddeus gave a quiet laugh. 

“You’ll need about five more of those creamers, dear.”

* * *

_“You need to watch yourself. People will notice your eyes on her.”_

T’Challa gave his father a smile as he turned around. He spoke in their native language, just as his father had. 

_“I promised a long time ago that I would watch over her. Protect her, if I can. I’m simply doing a favor for a friend.”  
“A criminal.”  
“Baba, you can’t believe that. None of them have done anything wrong. All because the General’s holding a grudge—”  
“That’s not for us to judge or decide. Come. Let’s take our seats.”_

T’Challa sighed, nodding and following his father, glancing back at you as he walked to his seat. 

* * *

“Honey? I have to take my seat.”

You looked up to your father and nodded. He went to sit in his assigned seat, while you made your way to the back of the room, behind the horde of TV cameras and reporters, a few of whom raised their eyebrows and whispered to each other as you walked past. 

You took a deep breath as you started to feel a bit claustrophobic behind all the cameras and people, so you moved to look out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Your eyes scanned over the line of news vans, stopping when you saw a man standing across the street. Although you were sure it was impossible, you felt his eyes staring right into yours. 

You took in a breath as you recognized him as the same man from the marketplace in Bucharest.

You glanced across the room, seeing your father in deep conversation with the Prime Minister sitting next to him. You made your way to the back wall, hugging it as you walked away from the crowd and out the door. You hurried down the stairs and pushed open the door, breathing a breath of relief when the cool, fresh air hit your face. You made your way to where you’d seen the man, noticing a white news van parked just down the street. You didn’t know why, but it seemed out of place. You lifted a hand to your forehead and sighed, pulling the shawl around your shoulders closer to your body. You turned to go back inside, going still when a hand gently closed around your arm and you felt your blood run cold. 

“Don’t scream or do anything out of the ordinary. I’m not going to hurt you. Just walk with me.”

You did as he asked, trying to ignore the way your whole body began to tremble. He looped his arm around your shoulders in a false air of closeness, leading you away from the building crawling with security where the summit was being held. 

“Trust me, you’re safer with me than with all of those guards.”  
“Oh, really?”

He gave a gruff chuckle. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N.”  
“How do you know my name?”  
“Who _doesn’t_ know your name? Daughter of former General-turned-Secretary of State, now got his eyes on the Presidency, Thaddeus Ross. You’re the one that was in a coma for a year.”

You swallowed, turning when the man gently squeezed your shoulder, shaking your head as you spoke softly.

“Who are you?”  
“Don’t worry about that.”  
“You’re abducting me in plain sight, but I don’t need to worry?”  
“I’m not abducting you. I’m trying to save your life.”

Your steps faltered, but his gentle hand on your arm kept you steady, and he kept forcing you to walk. 

“What do you mean?”

The two of you walked further down the street before he answered. 

“Did you notice that white van across the street from where the summit’s being held?”

You nodded. 

“Yeah, it was a news van. Just like the fourteen other ones on the road.”  
“This one had no markings. It was just a white van, which blended in.”

You stopped, and he turned to face you. You shook your head. 

“What does that even mean?”

He opened his mouth, but his words were cut off as an explosion sounded, the reverberations of which sent you flying forward into the man. He caught you as he stumbled back, shifting to lift you into his arms, turning and running down the street. You put your face in his shoulder, effectively hiding until you deduced the two of you had gone into a building and up a few flights of stairs. 

You blinked when he set you on your feet, and your shaky legs almost didn’t hold you up. You sat down on the couch you were standing in front of, glancing around the small apartment, nodding when he handed you a bottle of water with the cap already twisted off. You took a drink, then looked up to him. 

“What just happened?”

He walked to the window, lifting one of the blinds on his window and glancing through it. 

“If I had to make an educated guess … that unmarked van just blew up. Proximity means most of the building you were in will have taken the brunt of the blast. Multiple casualties for sure.”

You swallowed. 

“My dad was in there.”

The man rolled his eyes. 

“It’d take more than a little bomb to take out Thunderbolt Ross. He’s probably fine.”  
“Probably?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders and you set the water bottle down on the floor by your feet. 

“Why didn’t you tell someone?”

He lifted an eyebrow and glanced back at you as you shook your head. 

“If you knew that van would blow, why didn’t you tell someone? There must have been fifty police around.”  
“It’s complicated.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Jesus Christ.”

The man laughed, and you shook your head, scooting to the edge of the couch. 

“So what? You decide to rescue me and let all those other people die?”  
“There probably weren’t that many deaths.”  
“ _One_ is too many!”

He sighed, then turned to face you. The look in his eyes was haunted, and made you take in a breath. 

“Death is inevitable. For most people.”

He turned back to the window, having said the last sentence under his breath. You stood to your feet, making your way to him, reaching out a hand. Quicker than you could breathe, he grabbed your hand before you could touch him. Your eyes widened as he let you go, slowly putting space between you as he shook his head. 

“The clean up will take a while. They’ll be looking for survivors in the rubble. I’ll take you back before nightfall.”  
“Wait.”

He didn’t, stepping away from you and out onto the small balcony. 

You stood still for a few moments, blinking and swallowing before climbing through the doorway onto the balcony with him. He held a cigarette in one hand, inhaling deeply before exhaling the smoke. He glanced your way before looking back out towards the horizon, and you spoke softly. 

“I’m sorry.”  
“For what?”

You shrugged and he sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”  
“Why did you save me?”

He shrugged this time, and you huffed out a breath. A smile played at the edges of his lips and he shook his head. 

“You came to me.”  
“I recognized you from Romania.”

He took another drag and you moved to rest your back against the balcony, facing him. He raised an eyebrow as he looked to you, speaking softly. 

“Why’d you come to me?”

You swallowed, shaking your head. 

“I don’t know.”  
“Liar.”  
“I’m not!”

He gave a husky laugh, stubbing out his cigarette, blowing smoke away from you. He turned to face you and you shook your head. 

“Have we ever met?”  
“No.”  
“You seem so familiar.”  
“Maybe I’ve just got one of those faces.”  
“No, I think I’d remember those eyes.”

His eyebrows raised and you lifted a shoulder. You closed your eyes as a blinding pain shot through your skull, as another pair of blue eyes overtook your vision. 

“Y/N? Come on. Stay with me.”

You moaned as you fell, feeling yourself encased in a warm embrace as the man caught you. 

“I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

You moaned again as you leaned into him, the smell of tobacco thick in your nostrils. He laid you on the couch and moved away, and after a moment, a cool, damp cloth was pressed to your forehead. He didn’t say anything else, and you didn’t either, but you did move a shaking hand to rest against his thick thigh. You could almost feel him hesitate before he set his hand on yours, and you gave a shaky exhale as you felt yourself pass out. 

* * *

“Y/N? Hey.”

You slowly blinked your eyes open, taking in a deep breath as your eyes focused on the man sitting in a chair across from you. He lifted a gloved hand and waved at you and you smiled as you exhaled, closing your eyes again as his raspy voice softly reached your ears. 

“How you feeling?”  
“Like a truck ran over my skull.”  
“Think you’ll live?”

You snorted, opening one eye to see him smiling at you. You slowly shook your head and he sighed. 

“I should probably take you back now.”

You slowly nodded, opening your eyes to see him standing over you, offering you his gloved hands. You set your hands in his and he slowly helped you sit up, murmuring to you when you moaned because of your swimming head. 

“Just breathe.”  
“Okay.”

You did as he asked, leaning into the touch when he moved his hand to your cheek. He murmured something in a language you didn’t understand, and you opened your eyes to see him smiling at you. You shook your head and he winked at you, helping you to your feet. 

“What did you say?”  
“Я понимаю, почему он выбрал тебя. он счастливчик.”

You shook your head. 

“I don’t know what that means.”  
“It’s okay. I do.”

You rolled your eyes, moaning softly when that sent an ache through your skull. You lifted a hand to your head and the man pulled you closer, laying an arm over your shoulder. You leaned into him, looping your arm around his waist, and the two of you slowly walked to the door, then started down the stairs. 

“Was that Russian?”  
“You always this nosy?”  
“Usually more, but my head hurts.”

You stopped at the bottom of the stairs to catch your breath, and he gently touched your hair. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything to help you with that.”  
“It’s okay.”

You nodded and the two of you started walking again. After a quiet few moments, the man spoke. 

“Do you do that often?”  
“What?”  
“Get … I don’t know. Migraines?”

You nodded. 

“I’m starting to remember some things, and it … it hurts when I do.”  
“What did you remember this time?”

You swallowed, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, instead of the way you could feel your heartbeat in your skull. 

“Eyes.”  
“Eyes?”

You nodded. 

“There’s this man in my … my memories. I don’t know who he is, but he’s important. And now I know he’s got blue eyes.”

The man was quiet beside you, and you spoke softly. 

“Not like yours.”  
“How so?”  
“Yours are a … an icy, grayish blue. The ones I saw were … darker. Not much, but … more like the ocean.”

He was quiet for a moment, then spoke in his husky tone. 

“Sounds dreamy.”

You laughed, squeezing his hip. He gently rubbed his gloved hand up and down your arm, voice pitched low. 

“Did you know that plums are supposed to be good for your memory?”  
“Really?”

He nodded. 

“I knew who you were in Bucharest. It’s why I didn’t mind buying you that plum. I thought … I hoped it might help.”

You smiled to yourself, nodding. 

“I think it did. Thank you for that.”

He nodded, coming to a stop. He looked ahead, licking his lips before he turned to you. 

“This is as far as I go.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and exhaling. 

“Thank you again.”  
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m not some kind of hero.”  
“I guess that kind of depends on which side of the bomb you were on.”

A smile played at his lips as you smiled at him. He nodded, reaching down to take your hands. 

“Go.”  
“I don’t even know your name.”

He smiled, glancing down at your joined hands before he spoke. 

“The Smithsonian.”  
“What?”

You looked up, meeting his icy blue eyes. 

“Go to the Smithsonian. You might find some answers there.”

You shook your head, and his voice was barely a whisper. 

“вам нужно запомнить достаточно для нас обоих.”

You shook your head again, and he squeezed your hands. 

“Go.”  
“But—“  
“Go. I’ll watch and make sure you get there okay.”

You tugged on his hands, going on your toes and kissing his stubbled cheek. He squeezed your hands once more, then let go, and you blinked back tears as you hurried away from him, walking back to the now crumbling U.N. building. You stopped at the edge of the rubble, glancing back, but seeing no one. You swallowed, walking forward, looking around until you heard your name, a few seconds before your father had you in his arms. 

“Oh, god. Y/N. I thought I’d lost you again. Are you alright?”

You nodded, unable to speak through the tears thick in your throat. Thaddeus just nodded, wrapping you in a hug, resting his head atop yours. 

* * *

“Hey, there you are.”

You turned your head from where you were sitting, the kitten happily purring away in your lap. Betty walked over and sat beside you, a soft, sad smile on her face. 

“How you holding up?”

It had been two weeks since the bombing. The trip you and Thaddeus were on had been cut short, and Betty met the two of you in Wakanda to attend T’Challa’s father’s funeral. You’d thought very seriously of begging your father and T’Challa to let you stay in the beautiful country, but in the end, you’d come home. 

Betty had been watching you from a respectable distance, there to talk if you needed, comforting you without a word when you woke screaming from nightmares you weren’t expecting to have. 

You looked to your sister and smiled.

“We need to get out of this house.”  
“You read my mind.”

Betty offered you her hand and you took it, keeping the kitten cuddled close as the two of you went to ready yourselves for a day on the town. 

* * *

“Of all the places we could go … this was not where I was expecting you to choose.”

You smiled, shrugging your shoulders and walking towards the entrance to the Smithsonian. Betty shook her head, sighing as she followed you. The two of you took your time walking through the different museums, Betty promising you’d go to the zoo next, rolling her eyes when you stopped at the Air and Space Museum. 

“Oh, come on little space nerd. Let’s skip this one and just hit up the zoo.”  
“Come on, Betty! Where’s your sense of adventure?”  
“Back near the Egyptian exhibit when my feet started to hurt.”

You pushed out your lower lip and she rolled her eyes before looping her arm through yours. The two of you lazily walked around, stopping when something interested you, Betty muttering under her breath about the food court, when a new exhibit caught your eye. 

“What’s that?”  
“What?”

You nodded towards the exhibit and Betty shrugged her shoulders. You dragged her that way, stumbling when she went still. You shook your head, peeking in the doorway. 

“Captain America? Betty, that’s the comic I’ve been reading. Well, it’s one of the comics. I actually haven’t read that one yet. How is there a whole exhibit for it?”

Betty couldn’t speak. She couldn’t form the words to try to get you to bypass this exhibit, but … some part of her was hoping that going through it might help you remember something. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, turning back to you and smiling softly. 

“We could make the next train to the zoo if we hurry.”  
“But I … I want to see this. See what all the fuss is about, when it’s just a comic book.”

Betty opened her mouth, but you bypassed her and walked inside. She closed her eyes again, remembering the way your father had tried to shut this exhibit down, putting the battle on hold when you woke up. Betty gave a shaky exhale, then followed after you. 

You were standing in the middle of the floor, staring at the murals on the walls. A soothing voice came through the speakers, telling the story of the man this exhibit was based on. You met your sister’s eyes and shook your head. 

“This … this is a comic book, right? How … I don’t …”

Betty moved closer to you, choosing her words as wisely as she could as she spoke. 

“Well … every story is inspired by something, right? Maybe this was the inspiration for your comic book.”  
“No, it …”

You watched a little boy step onto a platform, giggling when the picture he was staring at went from a short, frail looking man to one tall and muscular. You shook your head. 

“Betty, was … was this real?”

Betty smiled at you, shaking her head and lifting her shoulders. 

“I just know what I’m hearing through the speakers. What I’m seeing on the plaques.”

You studied the plaques on the wall, putting together the story for yourself. The frail, sickly boy was Steve Rogers, chosen by the Strategic Scientific Reserve for Project Rebirth. He was injected with a special serum that cured his multiple physical ailments, becoming a prime specimen, the perfect super soldier.

_“Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.”_

You braced yourself for the pain, but it didn’t come, despite the voice you didn’t recognize whispering those words in your memory. You walked through the exhibit, studying the military uniforms of Captain Rogers’ specialized unit, the Howling Commandos. You watched a video clip of him ordering soldiers around, using a compass with a picture of a beautiful woman in one side. 

You turned to your sister, finding her close behind you, reading a plaque on the wall. You made your way to her, stumbling when the face on the plaque she was reading came into your vision. 

“Whoa, you okay?”

Betty steadied you with her hands on your shoulders, but you couldn’t take your eyes from the plaque. Betty’s eyebrows furrowed when she saw how pale your face was, the shock evident in your eyes. 

“Honey, what is it?”

You gave a jerky shake of your head. 

“It’s not possible.”  
“What’s not?”

You didn’t look away from the plaque, and Betty moved to stand behind you. 

“James Barnes?”

You stared at the face carved into the plaque, feeling your heart skip a few beats. His hair was shorter in the picture, his face clean shaven, but his eyes … there was no denying those were the same eyes you’d stared into halfway around the world, in Romania, then Vienna. 

“Honey, let’s go sit down for a minute.”  
“No, I … Betty.”  
“What, sweetie?”

You shook your head, finally tearing your eyes from the plaque to look at her. 

“I know him.”

Betty gave you a soft smile. 

“Y/N—“  
“No, I … Betty, I swear.”  
“Honey, did you read the plaque? James Barnes died in 1945. He was the only Howling Commando to give his life for his country.”

You closed your eyes, turning back to stare at the plaque. 

“Betty, I’m telling you. He’s alive.”  
“How is that possible, honey? He was born in 1917. Even if he was alive, he’d be almost a hundred years old.”

But he wasn’t. He looked to be in his early thirties, with a weight on his shoulders and pain in his eyes. You lifted a shaking hand to your lips, slowly shaking your head. You stepped closer, moving that still shaking hand to touch the plaque, touching the face carved into it. Your voice was barely a whisper, so quiet Betty didn’t even hear it. 

“Oh, god. What does this mean?”

* * *

You paced the office your father had given you, cell phone at your ear, chewing on your thumbnail. You turned and continued pacing, listening to the most annoying elevator hold music. 

_“Miss Ross, I’m sorry. Miss van Dyne has stepped out for a moment. May I take a message?”  
_ “Listen, I hate to be rude, but I’ve left messages. For the past two days, I have left message after message and she still hasn’t called me back. It is imperative that I speak with her. Do you understand?”  
 _“Yes ma’am, I do. And I’m very sorry, but I can’t—“_

You groaned and ended the call, throwing the phone onto your desk. You walked to the couch along the wall and sat down, pushing your hands through your hair. 

You hadn’t slept worth a damn the past two nights. All of your thoughts were consumed with James Barnes and how he could be alive, along with why he would want anything to do with you. You had no way to get in touch with him, no way of knowing if he’d even be in Vienna _or_ Bucharest, if you decided to fly back there. 

Not to mention that asking anyone around would be out of the question, since he apparently died over seventy years ago. 

You put your face in your hands, taking in a slow breath and letting it out even slower. You lifted your head and kept your hand covering your mouth as you thought. 

Nothing made sense anymore. You felt like you couldn’t trust anyone, not even your sister. Betty hadn’t done anything wrong, but you knew there was something she wasn’t telling you. And that obviously was because of your father. You felt betrayed, and it was the weirdest feeling because you didn’t know _why_ you felt that way. 

You glanced at your desk, at your computer and the folders you had there. You stood up, walking over and moving some of the folders, finding exactly what you were looking for. 

The Captain America comic book. The one titled _The First Avenger_. 

You sat in your desk chair, kicking your shoes off under your desk and cracking open the book. 

It was everything you’d seen in the museum. Scrawny, sickly Steve Rogers, desperate to join the war effort like everyone around him. There was James Barnes, Steve’s best friend, but he didn’t call him James. No, Steve called him—

“Bucky.”

You pushed back from the desk, dropping the comic, which fluttered to the floor. You shook your head, covering your mouth with both hands. 

How did you know that? How could you possibly know James Barnes’ nickname, when you were almost sure you’d never met the man before Romania? 

You stared down at the comic, open to a scene revealing an exaggeratedly muscled, blonde-haired, blue-eyed super soldier. You shook your head, leaving your chair, kneeling to the floor and gently touching the page. 

“Is it you? Steve Rogers?”

You waited for a memory to hit, but nothing happened. You flicked your eyes up towards the computer, then shook your head. You’d researched everything you’d seen in the Smithsonian. Steve had crashed an airplane into the Arctic shortly after Bucky’s death. 

You looked straight ahead. If Bucky’s death … wasn’t, then … what else could be true? You looked at the phone on your desk and set your jaw, picking the comic up and flipping through it. There, at the very last page, a crying brunette all alone in a old-timey control room, was a name scratched into the corner of the cell. 

What was it Betty had told you? 

_Every story is inspired by something._

You moved back into your desk chair, typing the name you’d found into the Google search bar, after turning the page to Incognito Mode. Your eyes widened when you found a generic author blurb, digging a little deeper and finding the information you needed. 

You bit your thumbnail again, staring at the computer screen before picking up your cell phone. You shook your head as you searched for, then dialed a number, lifting your phone to your ear. 

Every story is inspired by something. You were going to find the author of these comics and find out what exactly his inspiration was. 

_“Greyhound Bus Services.”  
_ “Yes, can I reserve a ticket to Queens, please?”

**Author's Note:**

> The phrases Bucky says in Russian are: 
> 
> "I understand why he chose you. He's lucky."  
> "You need to remember enough for both of us."


End file.
